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About Birmingham

So, findin’ a prossie—where do ya even start? Back in the day, they’d slink round Flea Bottom, all sneaky like, dodgin’ the Gold Cloaks. Little known fact: some o’ them girls? Trained in Braavos, yeah, proper assassins moonlightin’ as whores—how’s that for a twist? Makes me laugh, thinkin’ bout some lord payin’ for a tumble and endin’ up with a dagger in his gut. Brilliant. I’d hire ‘em just for the chaos.

Question about taxi

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So, I’m feeling good, right? I decide to grab a coffee at this little café on Spon Street. It’s one of those hipster joints, you know? I order a flat white, and the barista looks at me like I just asked for a unicorn frappuccino. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just coffee!” Anyway, I sit down, and this old fella starts chatting me up. He’s telling me about the good ol’ days in Coventry. Apparently, he used to hang out at the old Coventry Market. I’m thinking, “Wow, you must be ancient!” But he’s got some great stories.

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